


in the half-light, we were glorious

by biggayhighway



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Apocalypse, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Mild Blood, Swearing, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25203643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biggayhighway/pseuds/biggayhighway
Summary: Callum's head jolts in the direction of the noise, up above him. There's a figure, back-lit by the dim sun that makes them only a silhouette, but it's obvious to Callum by stance alone that this is a human.--a ballum apocalypse AU
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 11
Kudos: 58
Collections: Ballum Big Bang 2020





	in the half-light, we were glorious

**Author's Note:**

> art by @benfreakingmitchell on tumblr! please go check it out, it captures the whole vibe of this fic perfectly, i think <3

_This is how I'm going to die_ , he thinks. _Completely alone._

Callum pants as he grasps his lower calf with his grubby, bandaged hands. Panic laces every breath, every grunt, and sets his heart thumping against his ribs like a metronome climbing to a devastating and inevitable crescendo. His foot is firmly wedged in the grate, solid steel bars clutching his aching ankle. As much as he gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut to null the tears that would well up when he tugged, he wasn't going anywhere. 

"Fuck," he spits, smacking his hands against the concrete in sheer frustration. _What a pathetic way to go, mauled to death by a zombie because your foot is stuck down a grate. Nice work, Halfway._

The drawling groan that Callum has come to know so well sounds from behind the corner, and like an instinct, his panic shoots up even further. He holds his breath, and lies down on the concrete, despite the awkward angle that makes his thighs ache. All he has to do is remain quiet and hope and pray that nothing comes around that corner until he can pry his foot out and get somewhere safe. He curses himself for wasting his last bullets on a pile of debris that looked like a zombie. _Typical_ , he thinks, _always prepared when I don't need to be, never prepared when I do._

The zombie groans again, and Callum gasps in a stuttering breath when he thinks he can hear more than one. He won't be able to fight off more than one with what he has, an empty pistol, half a glass bottle of vodka and his fists. He wasn't even sure if he could tackle one. 

He thinks about Mick and Linda, how they'd been like a second family to him, far better parents than his own could have ever been. How, when they'd announced this sudden plague that was sweeping the biggest nations, the media calling it the "real-life zombie apocalypse," Mick had passed him another bottle of beer and said they'd all be fine, that they were making a big deal out of it to scare them, how he didn't need to worry. How Mick would take care of him if he had to, despite Callum being almost halfway through his 20s. Mick was the dad that Callum felt he never really had. 

They'd been separated when the government had tried to salvage some form of society, and Callum, an ex-soldier, 6"2 of optimism and wide smiles and most importantly, uninfected cells, was deemed best to be bundled into a strange car and driven away to some obscure camp that was _definitely_ not in London, populated by other people the government deemed good enough to be the ‘building blocks of a new, unplagued society.’ 

It had been mostly quiet for the first few months, making acquaintances and staying quiet, abiding by rules and daily bite checks, trying to ignore the fact that letters from Mick and Mrs C had completely stopped, and that the phone lines had apparently collapsed, so his brother could no longer call him. Eventually, any hope they had of the "new society" was ruined, and an outbreak began in their supposedly impenetrable camp. Callum had wasted no time in gathering what he could, including the pistol he kept on him at all times. Ammo could only last so long though, and that fact had now been proven to him. 

He's broken out of his moment of reminiscing when the drooling, grumbling creature around the corner appears in his eyeline, and then Callum swallows dryly. That's it, he's just Callum Highway, foot stuck down a drain in the middle of an urban alleyway, surrounded by shattered glass and bricks, with nothing but the rusty metal fire escape of the building to the left of him to keep him company as he dies. It notices him instantly, and Callum turns his head sharply as if somehow, he's going to get his foot free and sprint down the alleyway to the road that it opens up to on the other side. But, as he grits his teeth once more and tugs, it's useless. 

"Fuck off," he spits, shifting sideways and grasping a brick in his hand firmly. He's a little weak from dehydration and the fact he hasn't eaten a proper meal in months, but he still manages to throw it. It knocks the zombie back, yes, but still, it's relentless. Callum wonders how many bricks it would take to actually save himself in this situation, and whether he has that many on hand to throw, let alone if he has the strength to do so. 

Death was always inevitable, he supposes, but so soon, and in this way? Ultimately, he's disappointed in himself. This is absolutely nothing like the movies. As it approaches slowly, stumbling until it's only just over a metre away, Callum grabs another brick and shuffles so that his free leg can kick the creature back. He's weak, but adrenaline is adrenaline. 

When it reaches out, skin grey and grotty, eyes yellow and reeking of something Callum cannot bring himself to describe, there's a sharp whistle. Callum's head jolts in the noise's direction- up above him. There's a figure, back-lit by the dim sun that makes them only a silhouette, but it's obvious to Callum by stance alone that this is a human. Then there's a bang, and another, and suddenly Callum is just Callum Highway, foot stuck down a drain in the middle of an urban alleyway, with a dead (properly, actually, not undead- _actually_ dead, Callum reminds himself) zombie collapsed on his good leg. He shakes the corpse off, kicking it firmly in the shoulder so it shifts further away from him. 

He knows he shouldn't be relieved just yet, because other survivors can be just as dangerous as the undead when it comes to survival, but he can't help it as it runs through his veins. He's safe, hopefully, and if he's lucky, this stranger won't shoot him in the head with their rifle like they did to the zombie before being ultimately disappointed that all he has on him is his empty gun, half a bottle of vodka, and some old climbing ropes that really could snap at any minute. Callum really hopes they feel bad after they kill him and see what he was worth, and he knows he should be less ready to accept the end like this, but the pain in his ankle is growing significantly worse by the second and really, what is he doing here, anyway? 

He's nowhere near prepared enough to last much longer, and if he's lucky, it might be less painful than rotten teeth sinking into his flesh. He shudders at the thought, kicking the corpse again for good measure. He winces when he accidentally jolts his other ankle. 

He waits awkwardly as the figure makes its way down the fire escape, skipping steps and sliding down the bottom ladder with ease, feet landing with a soft thump against the concrete. 

It's a man who doesn't look any older than Callum himself, but in equally bad of a state, minus his leg being trapped. The stubble on his face is unkempt, and his hair is flat but messy, looking like fingers have pushed through it repeatedly but failed to tame the unruly hairs. In his hands sits the shotgun he had fired from, wrapped in duct tape around the stock. It becomes suddenly apparent to Callum that this is the first human he's seen in a year-odd. He's seen signs, tracks, abandoned supplies that he'd happily taken, but no humans. 

"Thank you so much," Callum starts, coughing. His throat is bone dry, but he owes this stranger a lot more than a thank you for saving his life. He says it because it's all that he can give. "You know I was so sure I was going to die here, and then I-"

Callum stops talking when the stranger wordlessly slaps a hand over his mouth. Steely grey eyes glare down at him as the stranger jabs his gun toward the nearest end of the alleyway. There's a quiet shuffle, and Callum winces and hopes he hasn't attracted anything.

The stranger slowly removes his hand, and Callum watches as he creeps towards the corner. He can't help but hold his breath when the stranger steps into the light of the road. There's a shot from the gun, and then another, before he's scouring the area quickly and making his way back towards Callum. 

"We need to get out of here," the stranger orders, bending to one knee, gun slung over his shoulder by the strap he's attached to it. Callum grits his teeth as the stranger pushes up the sleeves of his grubby sweatshirt and grasps Callum's calf with both hands. He tugs, but still, it refuses to budge.

"What the fuck have you done?" He murmurs, but it seems like more of a side comment to himself than an actual question he wants Callum to answer, so Callum keeps his mouth closed. "How did you manage this?"

Now this, Callum can answer. 

"I was walking, backwards, like an idiot- I know- and then it just- got stuck, I guess?" 

"You were walking," another sharp tug. Callum winces. "Backwards. Into an alleyway which you could have easily been cornered into if there were zombies at the other end." 

"I panicked, okay?" Callum snaps. He's tired, and in pain, and he knows he really should be treading on eggshells because this stranger could instantly kill him even after saving his life, or worse, leave him here in this alleyway to die with his foot trapped in a grate. 

"That much is obvious." 

The stranger stands.

Callum’s initial response is to reach for him, grab at the material of his rough jeans because he’s really fed up of dicing with death, and something tells him that this stranger and he would make a good team. 

“Wait- no- I’m sorry, don’t leave me here.”

The man scoffs out a heavy laugh, shoulders pulling up. He pushes a hand through his hair and rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. His eyes squint with a smile. He points vaguely behind Callum before walking around him and kicking at one of the piles of debris piled up against the wall. Callum watches curiously as somehow he retrieves a heavy-looking steel bar and examines it with a rather proud look on his face. Callum hates the way his gut twists at the sparkle in his eyes. 

“Chill,” he drawls. “I’m not _that_ much of an asshole.” 

“Well, _I_ didn’t know that,” Callum reasons as the stranger squats next to him. He watches the man’s face as it contorts in focus. He doesn’t even watch what he’s doing, enamoured by the soft curve of his jawline but the sharp twists of his features in his profile. He’s a little taken aback when suddenly the stranger turns his head, and they’re _close_. Like, he can feel this guy’s breath on his skin, close. Callum’s eyes widen as the stranger’s seems to look down at his mouth, then quickly back up. 

“By the way,” he starts, and Callum hurries to listen. “Name’s Ben.”

“Ben, that’s a nice- oh, _fuck_.”

Callum’s hand flies forward from complete instinct and grasps sharply at Ben’s broad shoulder. He stares at where Ben has managed to pry apart the metal bars, which is a feat which Callum would certainly be more impressed with if he didn’t feel like Ben had snapped his ankle in half along with contorting the metal. 

“Sorry. Hand slipped.” 

Callum looks up at the sky and takes a few deep breaths. He feels like a bit of an idiot, especially in front of this guy, this _human_ , who he’s only just met. There’s a hand on his shin suddenly, and he looks forward to see Ben’s face looking back at him, sympathetically. 

“You’re free now, at least.”

“Thank you,” Callum breathes. He releases his grip on Ben’s shoulder as the sharp pain dissipates a little, returning to its original dull ache. 

“You’re very welcome. Now, how’s about you tell me who you are and why we haven’t run into each other sooner, and we’ll get you back to mine.”

Callum doesn’t even consider arguing that they should go back to his instead, because he has nothing there, despite a few bottles of water and a can or two of out of date beans. He hadn't really had his own home when this had all started, so he'd just found an empty house in a quiet area and set up camp there. It was boring, living for no purpose, but Callum had just kept telling himself to live until he physically can't. Live until there's no more food or water, live until you get bitten, or shot by other survivors, or until you fall off a ledge or bleed out or have an infected wound that kills you. Suddenly, he finds a glimmer of purpose in this other survivor, so he holds on tight when Ben helps him hobble to his feet and out of the alleyway, and is reluctant to let go.

**_____________**

"So you're not from around here- originally?" Ben muses, gritting his teeth as Callum winces, winding a bandage around his swelling ankle. The sofa he's sprawled across isn't huge, nor is it in terrific shape, but to Ben it's _home,_ and to Callum it's a place to sleep until he's better, until they depart ways. That is, _if_ they depart ways at all. Callum really hopes they don't. 

"No," Callum answers, pulling the faded cushion closer to his chest. It smells faintly like Ben, the musky, warm smell that follows him everywhere. "I'm from the East end." 

Ben hums, rummaging through the draws of his coffee table and pulling out a roll of classic silver duct tape. Callum eyes him, as if to say, _are you kidding me?_

"Look," Ben starts, returning to his knees beside the sofa. "It's strong and durable and it'll keep your ankle supported. It's so wrapped in bandages you'll hardly even feel it."

The sharp rip of the tape from the roll comes afterwards, and Ben lifts Callum's leg so gently that warmth blooms in his chest. He's not used to being looked after so carefully. As Ben works, he talks again.

"The East end, eh? I've got family down there. Or, did have, family down there. Might still have. Who knows, eh?" Callum watches Ben as he focuses, suddenly quiet. He thinks it best to keep quiet himself and retreat to the comfortable silence, but then Ben speaks up. 

"You've come a long way. How'd you manage that?"

"They wanted me to join this group, when this whole thing started. It was meant to be a new society, completely uninfected, but then everything went to shit, like I expected, really." He scrunches up his face and groans when Ben adjusts the angle of his foot, but the pain is soothed by Ben's soft _shush, 'm sorry._

"They wanted _you_ to restart society? I literally had to save you from a grate." 

"Yeah, well, probably because I was in the army for a bit."

Ben's eyebrows raise. He gently slides another cushion into the pile that Callum's foot rests up on before he stands up, gathering the first aid kit off the floor. 

"Army, eh?" Callum nods, watching Ben kick back in the tattered armchair. 

"Wish I'd stayed at home, shouldn't have left," Callum continues. 

"But then you never would have met me, eh?"

Callum looks up at Ben's squinting, tired eyes and his wide smirk, looking like he's about to burst into laughter in the best way, and he can't help but smile back at him. He feels very lucky to have _somehow_ found someone on this desolate planet who he seems to connect well with. 

"No, I wouldn't have."

**_____________**

The days pass slowly. Callum sleeps on the sofa. It's not his bed, but he appreciates the company more than he thinks he could ever express. 

Most days Ben disappears for hours at a time, leaving Callum to sleep in or hobble around the small apartment. Ben tells him to keep it up, tells him he needs to build up the strength in it again. Some days Callum can hardly stand up, the others he stands at the window and watches the quiet world pass for a while. Sometimes he reads, scouring Ben’s vast book collection, recognising titles he’d enjoyed once and ones he had been meaning to read before everything ended. It’s certainly more than Callum has back home. 

Some days Ben comes back home with a wide grin and a heavy bag and a stack of books to add to the box that's already almost overflowing. He stocks the cupboards the best he can whilst Callum watches on, smiling because Ben’s so chuffed with himself. Some days Ben comes back empty-handed, shaking his head at Callum before tugging off his boots, dumping his rucksack by the door and collapsing next to him on the sofa with a sigh. 

“Try again tomorrow,” Ben murmurs. Callum shifts closer, nudging their elbows together. Ben smiles at him softly, turning his head and pressing his forehead into Callum’s shoulder with a groan. Callum swallows down the lump in his throat at the tiny display of intimacy that he didn't know he’d been craving until it was just out of his grip, instead of impossible to reach. 

One day, Ben comes in quietly, but Callum still hears the key in the lock. He puts his book down, leaning over the arm of the sofa to see what Ben’s bought with him today. He doesn't expect to see Ben leaning against the doorframe, pressing a crimson-dripping hand against the side of his head. He’s screwed his eyes shut in what Callum can only suspect is pain. He’s as pale as a sheet, and he stumbles forward, letting his bag fall from his arms. Callum jumps up almost instantly, wincing just a little at the slight pain in his ankle. 

“What happened? Are you alright?”

“Whoa,” Ben groans. “Too loud.”

Callum isn’t used to worrying about people, not any more at least. He’d had no one to worry about for long enough that he’d sort of forgotten what it was like to care about someone so deeply that when they're hurting, you hurt too. It's typical of himself, he thinks, to care about someone he’s known for a couple of weeks, if that. But caring makes him feel human, and not much can do that for him anymore, so he grasps at it and quickly asks Ben what he can do for him. 

Ben murmurs about a first aid kit and gestures vaguely towards the kitchen, before retreating to his bedroom, so Callum goes rummaging through the cupboards until he eventually finds it. He follows Ben into the dark bedroom and watches as Ben lies down on the bed. He shuts his eyes, and Callum really hopes the extent of his injury is just the wound on his head, and that he’s not concussed, or worse. 

Callum turns him onto his side carefully and patches him up whilst Ben murmurs softly about how it’d happened, Callum only picking up the odd word. _Pipe, wall, blood, hurt, sleep it off, fine._ Maybe he’ll ask again when Ben isn't so visibly exhausted that he can barely string a sentence together. Callum likes the first aid, takes him back to his army training days, unearths memories he didn’t know he still had. His hand is gentle in Ben’s hair, and he grits his teeth and shakes his head when a flicker of panic sparks in his chest. This is different, they are safe, Ben’s life isn't hanging in the balance like theirs was. It’s not his job to get Ben to safety or to cover, at least, and it's quiet and there's no one shouting or screaming, it's just them. Ben must notice that Callum’s frozen for a moment, because he lets out a soft,

“Cal?”

A different spark starts up then, lower down in his stomach. No one’s called him Cal since he was younger, smaller, more innocent. When his friends couldn't be bothered to shout the two syllables of his name across the football field, so they’d shortened it to one. When Stuart checked in on him late at night when the house was finally quiet even though he was seventeen and argued that he didn't need to be checked on all the time, but never bought it up because he always pretended he was asleep when Stuart softly called his name into the dark of his tiny box room. When he’d ended up at that house party because a friend of a friend was going, and the more the merrier, and definitely not because he just needed to get out of the house before he lost his mind. He’d ended up kissing that boy in the dark garden because they both weren’t thinking straight, and then he’d softly called out his name as if the world would shatter if he spoke any louder than a whisper. That's the only thing Callum had remembered the next morning. 

“I’m still here.”

_Pass the ball to me, I’m still here._

_It's alright, Stuart, I got out of his way this time, I'm still here._

_Kiss me again, please, I'm still here._

Callum crouches down next to Ben’s head and looks into his eyes, focusing on Ben’s pupils rather than the fact their faces are mere inches away from each other. Callum cannot ruin this for himself, not like he’s let everything else slip away. 

“Can I go to sleep now, doc?” Ben murmurs, and even when his eyelids are heavy and his hands are still stained with blood, that signature smirk doesn’t leave his face. 

Callum’s a little worried, though. 

“Is it okay if I stay?” His brain screams at him not to carry on speaking, to quit whilst he’s ahead so Ben doesn't think he's creepy for literally asking to watch him sleep, so that he doesn't lose the only hope he has. The only thing tying him to reality. “Check you don't just die on me in the middle of your nap.”

“Sure,” Ben hums lowly. “Go to town, Highway.”

Ben’s out like a light. Callum wants to wake him up instantly, his instincts tell him to shake Ben awake, to tell him he can't sleep because Callum is terrified that he’s just going to die in his arms, and he doesn't think he’d survive being alone again, not after he's finally had company after what feels like decades of isolation. He ignores his instinct though, because Ben looks so _soft_ when he’s asleep. The little crease that Callum had started to think was permanent between his constantly furrowed eyebrows has disappeared, and his lips relax from the smirk and he just looks relaxed, normal. 

Callum knows as much as the next guy that sleep is the only peace you can get now, and the hours of rest are often few and far between. He thinks Ben deserves this, a proper, deep sleep, for his body to heal, his muscles to rest and repair themselves. His body to reset. He’s been out every day, coming back exhausted but leaving early, and Callum is more grateful that Ben has taken him in and is looking after him for no reason, really, than he thinks he could ever say. Ben is gaining absolutely nothing from Callum’s company, if anything he’s losing room and resources, but he's doing it out of the good of his heart, or at least Callum thinks so, and he’s never been looked after so well, cared for as deeply as he feels now, which is foreign to him, especially when the world is in the state it is.

So, to try to even begin to make it up to Ben, to show his thanks, he patches him up, makes sure the grazes and gashes he gets aren’t at risk of infection, stops him bleeding, checks him for concussions, checks on him whilst he sleeps the day away. Tries his best to listen to Ben’s complaints about the lack of supplies in the local area and the undead and the general situation the world is facing, tries to offer advice where he can, tricks and titbits he’s picked up over the years, tries to make everything as easy as he can for Ben, because it's what he deserves. 

Callum sits next to Ben in his bed, and he feels a bit awkward at first, not having stayed in another guy’s bed for longer than he’d like to admit, really. He’d realised quickly after his first relationship had come to a mutual end that he wasn't much for sleeping around. He carries on reading, looking up from the pages from time to time to glance at Ben’s still form. Apparently, he’s a rather loud breather, so Callum doesn't find himself worrying that Ben has suddenly died and he’s unaware. 

Callum retreats to the kitchen when it gets late and he finds himself hungry. He’s sure Ben will probably be starving when he wakes up, so he cracks open a can of beans and tries his best not to use up all the gas in the small camping stove Ben had been lucky to find. He frequently checks in on Ben even though the rational part of his mind tells him that he’ll be fine for twenty minutes whilst you make some beans, for god’s sake, but he’s been listening to the rational part of his brain less and less recently and things have finally been looking somewhat good for once in his life. 

Once everything's done, Callum cleans up the very little mess, and retreats to the bedroom to continue reading, suggesting they eat together once Ben wakes up. He sits up against the headboard and quietly returns to the new fictional universe he's exploring. 

An hour passes, if that, before Ben is shuffling around and turning onto his back, stretching. He lets out a yawn, and then recoils a little when his eyes land on Callum, who quickly bookmarks his book and places it on the bedside table.

“Wow, you-uh, you stayed.”

Ben looks genuinely surprised, as if he’d expected Callum to have just left, to have not kept his word, to not have been worried out of his mind that if he’d looked away for even a moment- he’d look back to find Ben dead. Callum knows he’s overreacting, but that's what he does, overreact. There's not much more to do now than worry about things. 

“Yeah- yeah, of course I did.”

“Sorry”- Ben drags a hand across his cheek, sitting up, before gazing wide-eyed at his blood-covered hands. There’s a new smudge of red on the side of his face now, Callum notes. “I’m used to waking up alone, really, not with like, someone like you- you know. When they're there and then you wake up and then they're- not- you know.”

Callum doesn't know, and he raises an eyebrow slightly, leaning forward to encourage Ben to carry on with his tired mumbling. If there's one thing Callum’s learnt about Ben, it's that he's not a particularly open person, at least, to Callum he isn't. He supposes they have only known each other for a couple of weeks, and Callum’s certainly not the type to pressure anyone into telling him anything, but it does feel like Ben pretty much knows his entire life story, and in return he only really knows Ben's name. 

Ben doesn't elaborate. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, wincing when he stands up too quickly. 

“I’m gonna- clean up.” 

Callum just sits on the side of the bed and watches him leave the room. He waits until the bathroom door down the hall shuts loudly, and he shakes his head to relieve some of the awkward stress from his shoulders. He decides not to think about it anymore, and instead goes rifling through the box he’d spotted in the cupboard filled with boxes and bottles of various medicines. He ends up grabbing a packet of ibuprofen and a bottle of water and knocking softly on the bathroom door. 

Ben opens it, and instantly he looks better. His face is less grubby, and he’s drying his now clean hands on a towel. Callum tries to ignore the fact that Ben’s shirt has been bundled up and thrown in the corner, and tries to stop his eyes wandering down the plane of his bare back. 

“Bucket’s empty,” Ben murmurs, motioning vaguely to the bucket in the sink. He looks up at Callum through the mirror above it, but seems reluctant to make eye contact. Instead, he looks back at his own reflection. Callum decides there and then to persuade Ben to show him where he gets the water from, so that _he_ can go instead and start to pull his weight. 

“You should take one of these.” He places the packet and bottle on the side. Ben eyes them quickly and nods. Content, Callum goes to leave, but Ben quickly grabs his arm to stop him. 

"Don't- just- I was thinking." 

"Oh, no."

"Stop it, be quiet," Ben smiles slightly, and Callum feels the tension slip away. Ben looks up at him, actually in the eyes, and Callum can't stop himself from smiling back instinctually. "Would you- maybe want to sleep with me? Not like- that came out wrong- just." Ben takes a deep breath before he speaks again. "Like, in the bed? Because I know that sofa is just- _so uncomfortable_ \- and you're still healing up, and I'm not a doctor, but it's cold in here at night. That can't be good for you, your ankle. It'll be warmer if we're both together. You don't have to, but the- the offer's there." 

Callum doesn't even have to think.

"Yes, please. That sofa is so fucking awful."

"I'm sorry I made you sleep on it." 

"Don't be, I appreciated the gesture." 

**_____________**

"Have you always been on your own?" Callum asks softly. 

The living room is filled with soft pink light as the sun slowly sets outside. It's light enough for them both to see, and Callum has his hand gently cradling Ben's head still as he inspects his wound. It'd been a few days since it'd happened, and Ben had yet to go outside again. Callum's been resting up too, trying to get his ankle healed as quickly as possible so that he can go out too, so that Ben isn't the only one who's looking for supplies. 

"No- actually. I've had a couple people stay with me over the years."

"Oh yeah?" Callum hums. "Tell me about them?" 

"The first one was my- this guy I knew, and we'd started off together, you know, but then one day he was stupid and trying to be brave or show off to me, I guess, and he- he just- didn't make it." Ben lets out a shuddering breath, shoulders sagging. Callum brushes his thumb against the skin of Ben's cheek, hoping it helps to comfort him, if only a little. 

"And then I had to watch him- become one of them- and it really, it doesn't take long at all, you know? It happened so quickly, and then he was one of them, and suddenly I have three of the fucking bastards chasing me, and I had to shoot him. I had to, or I wasn't going to make it, but he looked so similar; you know? If you'd looked at him really quickly, you'd think he was still a human. So then I had to fucking shoot my boyfriend, and it was just- the worst thing ever." 

_Boyfriend._

Callum knows that really shouldn't be the part of Ben's story he's focusing on, because Ben's quite obviously not having a great time reliving it. But it's there, and there's that familiar feeling of solidarity in his chest that he used to get when people came out to him or vaguely mentioned a same-sex relationship. The feeling that he's not the only person who feels that way. And now, when the population is next to nothing, Callum feels endlessly lucky. 

Ben seems to notice that he's spaced out a bit, and eyes him curiously. Callum watches the realisation hit Ben quickly, and then he's tensing up, and Callum's hand is pulling away. Probably not the wisest choice. All of Ben's defences are suddenly up, and Callum hates it. _Tell him_ , he thinks. _Tell him you understand, tell him you feel like that too, tell him about Chris._ Callum dismisses that thought. He's not ready to think about Chris, let alone tell someone else about him.

"Look, if you don't like that I'm-"

"No!" Callum hurries, eyes wide. "I'm- me too? I guess." 

Ben's eyebrows raise, and his mouth falls open just a little. He lets his gaze fall down to the floor. 

"Hang on, stay still," Callum whispers. Ben can't even begin to focus on the dull ache in his head when Callum's fingers are pressing so carefully into his chin. Everything falls into place so suddenly. 

Ben had seen him from the top of that building, this handsome, young guy who needed his help, and Ben had just gone down there, no doubt about it. Callum could have seen him earlier, could have been planning to kill him and steal everything he had, but for some reason he hadn't even considered that. Callum had looked up at him with these wide, glossy eyes, scared out of his mind and trying to hide the panic that Ben could see building up within him because of his foot. 

And he'd just taken him home, looked after him, given him food and now a bed and for what? He hadn't really had time to think about it until Callum is looking after him in return, and then it all just makes sense. Ben hadn't known, hadn't realised, but now, with the way he gets goosebumps every time their skin grazes or Callum accidently knocks his gangly limbs into Ben's when he's sleeping, Ben recognises this feeling. And he's impulsive, always has been, and he knows he really should be thinking about this, and not being so reckless, but he can't help it when Callum's expression is so soft. 

So Ben kisses him.

It's not perfect. It's an awkward angle because Ben had just sharply turned his head around and pressed their lips together, and Callum's hands are still against his skin, although frozen, and Ben doesn't know whether to keep his eyes open or shut. There are no fireworks, but it's everything Ben remembers a kiss being. The fluttery feeling in his stomach, the need for more. 

But then Callum pulls away, and it's over as quick as it had started. Ben's mortified. He feels his face go red, and he's shaking his head and he vaguely hears himself apologising before he's standing up and pacing towards his bedroom, _their_ bedroom- if Callum doesn't leave. 

_Oh God_ , Ben thinks, _Callum's going to leave._

And it's so familiar. He recognises this feeling too. The heartbreak, the regret, the hatred directed at himself because _how could he be so stupid?_ Ben's sure Callum's plotting how to leave, maybe he's even grabbing his things right now so he can just disappear because who would ever want to stay with him now, after this? He curls up on his side of the bed and screws his eyes shut. 

Callum, however, is taken aback. It had all happened so quickly his brain hadn't had time to register one thing before something else was happening. And now Ben's disappeared. Callum sighs. He doesn't know what to do. On one hand, he wants to go and tell Ben that he enjoyed it, that he doesn't regret it, but on the other hand he isn't sure if Ben will even still want him living there anymore. It's not his apartment to stay in, even if Ben has referred to it as their home, their bed, their food, water, bathroom, living room, ect. He isn't sure what good asking Ben will do, so he sits on the sofa in the low light and tries to salvage the alcohol wipe he'd barely even used. 

It grows late quickly and normally Callum thinks he'd be asleep by this time. There's not much to do at all in the dark, because he really doesn't want to use the emergency matches and candles when he doesn't need to, so he just kind of sits there and thinks about what to say. He wonders if Ben's asleep; he thinks he probably might be, and wonders if he could possibly sneak into their room and steal a pillow or two so he can at least sleep on the sofa until Ben kicks him out the next morning. 

He manages to find the courage to stand up and approach the bedroom door. He almost can't believe how strangely _real_ this is. Back when there was life, when everything was normal, this would seem like a huge deal. Now, Callum finds himself worrying about other, bigger things far more. A kiss is nothing in comparison. He rests his forehead against the doorframe for a moment and then screws his eyes shut and knocks sharply. 

"Come in." It's soft and almost muffled, but Callum hears it. So he pushes open the door. 

Ben's wrapped up in the duvet, heavy over his shoulders, and he looks so young. Callum just wants to bundle him into his arms. Instead, he sits on his side of the bed, one leg bent on the duvet in front of him, the other on the floor. Ben doesn't seem to want to look at him **.**

"I'm sorry, I wanted to say, I shouldn't have, it wasn't my place to just kiss you out of the blue. You probably just want to go, and I get that, really, I do, so just-"

"I'll stay if you want me." Ben looks up at him, and Callum can't help but notice how small he looks, slouching, hands grasping the duvet over his lap. "I don’t- I wasn't expecting you to kiss me. I was shocked, more than anything, but I didn't _not_ want to kiss you. I just thought you'd never want to kiss _me_." 

"But I do." 

"Yeah, so do I." 

And then Ben's lunging forward and his hands are on Callum's face and they're sliding back to hold up his head and Callum grasps at Ben's forearms and he doesn't have the time to read the expression in Ben's eyes before he's shutting his own and kissing Ben like his life depends on it. He swings his legs onto the bed, pressing himself as close to Ben as he can possibly get, panting breathlessly for a moment before his hands are sliding up into Ben's hair. They're both still getting used to it again, relearning the ropes, but in the moment it's exactly what they both want it to be, _need it to be._

**_____________**

For the first time in a while, Callum's waking up every day with a grin on his face. 

Nothing's perfect. They often go to sleep hungry or cold, but when Ben presses his face to the space between Callum's neck and shoulder, and wraps his arms around his waist, Callum doesn't mind so much. 

Even going out together is fun. Now that Callum's back up walking like normal- for the most part, if he runs a lot it tends to ache a bit for a day or two- they've been leaving the apartment to search for supplies together. Ben shows him all the shops he's sure he's emptied, and the houses on the street that he's completely ransacked. Callum watches with wide eyes as it all comes back to him. Inside the apartment it had seemed like everything was normal, domestic bliss and nothing more, but now he remembers. 

"Here's where I found you," Ben gestures to an alleyway, and Callum's taken aback suddenly at how close they were to each other all that time, and Callum was none the wiser. 

"Lucky me," Callum murmurs. 

"Lucky you indeed," Ben grins in return, knocking their fingers together gently. Callum saves him the hassle and intertwines their fingers.

The first time they encounter a herd of the undead together, it's a big one. They're inside an old grocery store, one Ben's only just found, and it isn't entirely empty. One minute they're grabbing whatever they can and the next there are zombies filing in through the door and clamouring over the smashed window frames and Callum's shouting Ben's name, pulling out the large shotgun Ben had lent him- the same one he'd saved Callum's life with. It's like Ben becomes a different person, and he's pushing Callum behind him and telling him to find the back door and run.

"Ben, I'm not going to leave you." Ben's looking at him, panicked, before back at the herd of undead growing closer. Ben takes a few steps back. 

"Don't be fucking stupid, Callum, go. I'll catch you up." 

Ben's tugging a pistol out of the waistband of his cargo pants that Callum didn't even know was there. He takes a few steady shots at the group, and a couple of them fall to the floor.

"Come on, Ben." 

Ben doesn't move, so Callum locates the door with the peeling 'Staff Only' sticker on it, and grabs Ben's arm, tugging him past the herd and barrelling through the door. He slams it shut behind them and leans up against it. He's panting and scared, but Ben's there, Ben's trying to push an old set of shelves in front of the door, so Callum helps him. 

"You're such a fucking idiot," Callum sighs, pulling Ben into his arms. "Don't do that again. If one of us runs, we both do. I'm not losing you now." 

Ben nods, burying his face into Callum's neck. 

They both jump when the door shakes, and suddenly there's groaning and scratching, and Ben takes Callum's hand and quietly pushes open the back door. They head straight home.

**_____________**

When Callum wakes up alone one morning, it's strange. He's used to waking up warm, with another body pressed to his, but now he's on his own. He hates how familiar it is, the twinge in his stomach that he recognises. He didn't think he'd be back to waking up alone so soon. 

He calls out for Ben, hoping he's still in the apartment, but no one replies. He furrows his brow in confusion, quickly getting out of bed. 

He notices firstly that Ben's boots are gone, and so is his bag. So Ben's not there. Callum pouts just a little, wanting nothing more than 10 more minutes in bed with him. He wanders from room to room aimlessly, getting colder by the minute, until he sees Ben's scrawly handwriting on a slip of paper on the side. 

_I've gone out to look for food and water again. I thought we had more than we did but we have nothing right now. Really hope you're not too hungry and I'll try my best to get enough to last us at least until tomorrow._

_Rest up. I'll be back before you know it._

_-B <3 _

Callum lets out a quiet sigh, but retreats back to their bedroom anyway, and quickly falls back asleep, hoping that when he wakes up, Ben will be there keeping him warm.

The darkness rolls slowly in, and as the sun sinks lower and lower in the sky, Callum's stomach twinges with nerves. Ben should be back by now. He'd woken up again at midday on his own and had tried to quell the nerves that arose then. He never takes this long. He would have been back at least to tell Callum he needed to stay out for longer. But he attempts to push the panic aside for now and tries his best not to throw up. _It's fine_. If he goes to bed and sleeps- when he wakes up then Ben will be there. 

He curls up on Ben's side of the bed and quietly sobs into the duvet until his eyes are too tired to stay open. 

The morning after, Callum feels terrible. He's freezing cold, and he's exhausted even though he's only just woken up. He's sick to his stomach with nerves and he can't stop worrying. The bed is cold and empty. The apartment is the same. It's obvious Ben hasn't been here for a day now. 

Callum tries to go back to sleep, because his dreams are strange and sometimes a little scary, but nothing is scarier than facing the fact that Callum's lost the only thing he's living for. The first person, the first thing he's cared about in years. 

He tries not to think about it. He tries so hard. He screws up his eyes and thinks of happy things, happy times, but they're all with Ben. He hardly remembers anything from before. He tries to think about his family, about Mick and Linda and Stuart, but then all he ends up remembering is that Ben had family in the East End too. He wonders if anyone is still alive. He wonders if Ben is, and then a whole different can of worms gets opened up.

Callum really tries not to think about it. He keeps telling himself stop, you're just going to make it worse, but he can't. His heart aches when he thinks about Ben, cold and alone and in pain somewhere. He could be right outside. He could be literally a minute away and Callum could find him, save him. 

He's out of the apartment in what has to be record time. 

He calls out for him, so many times and so loud that his voice aches. He doesn't stop. He keeps walking, even when his ankle starts playing up, he powers through because he will not lose the one good thing he has. Eventually, the pain in his ankle is too much to handle, and he's completely parched. He gives in for the day, crawling back into bed and trying not to imagine Ben's lifeless body. He fails. 

**_____________**

Days pass. Callum loses less and less hope by the hour. He's tired all the time and he just wants to sleep, but he knows that if he does that he's not looking for Ben. He has to be looking for Ben. 

He's not eating, and he feels sick all the time. He hates it; he hates it so much. It's not fair that everything good he's ever had he loses. He's determined though, if nothing else. He's determined that one day he'll find Ben and save him, and it'd be like the tables had completely turned and he'd have to look after Ben and he'd do it. He'd do anything for Ben, he'd die for him. It's only been a few months since they'd met, but Callum would give up _everything_ for this guy. 

He wants to hope that this is all some crazy dream, but he knows it's not. This is real life, this is real pain, unmistakably. He wishes it was a dream. He wishes more than anything that he would wake up with Ben in his arms and everything would be okay. They'd both be perfectly fine. 

Callum goes out again. Day after day after day he's out calling Ben's name and avoiding the undead, which proves to be a tricky task when he's shouting all the time. He almost wants to give in, let them take him, turn him into a monster just so he doesn't have to think, doesn't have to feel pain. But then he thinks about Ben. Ben would want him to keep looking. So he does. 

His feet ache all over. He can hardly stand. He's cried more tears in the last few days that he reckons he has in his entire life so far. He's exhausted in every sense of the word. He takes the stairs up to the apartment by himself again, defeated yet another day. _One day_ , he swears to himself, he'll walk up those stairs with Ben again. 

He pushes his forehead against the doorframe. He just wants to lie in bed and sleep, maybe give up. Maybe he has to give up. Maybe he shouldn't have gotten so attached in the first place. Maybe he took happiness, company, Ben for granted. Maybe this pain is his fault. 

"Oh my God, Cal." 

Callum's head flies up, and suddenly he's surrounded in warmth. His nose is buried in soft brown hair, there are arms wrapped tight around his waist, and the figure pressed against him is shaking like a leaf.

"Ben?"

"I'm sorry. Fuck, I'm so sorry." 

Callum has never felt such relief. It's like a tidal wave of warmth and everything stops. His chest stops hurting and his headache lessens and the sick feeling in his stomach changes from nauseous sick to so-happy-I-could-cry sick. His hands rest on Ben's upper back, and they're supporting each other. 

"I was- I got stuck- I couldn't- they were- I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Callum has nothing to say. He couldn't possibly speak. He just wants Ben home and safe and alright, and he is. Ben's here. He's not alone anymore. 

"It's okay," He breathes, throat dry. "You're here." 

"I thought you were gone." 

"I could say the same about you," Callum smiles softly.

"I'm sorry, fuck, I shouldn't have gone without you."

"You're here. You're okay."

Callum takes Ben's head in his hands and kisses him like he'd die if he didn't. Maybe he would. Ben's hands are grabbing at him wherever he can reach, and Callum's hands are in Ben's grubby hair, and it's perfect. Everything's perfect because they have each other.

**Author's Note:**

> @biggayhighway on tumblr


End file.
